Barbara's Triumph
by Silver Stockings
Summary: Nobody in Avonlea has ever expected great things of Barbara Shaw. But Barbara intends to prove them wrong. A story of a scatterbrain. Please read and review. Chapter 4 is up!
1. Of Barbara

**Barbara's Triumph**

A short story about Barbara Shaw, who, some of you may remember, was a pupil of Anne's at Avonlea School. A rather scatterbrained, accident-prone pupil. Anyway, I like writing about the minor characters in books, and I had a particular affection for Barbara, knowing something about being accident-prone myself.

Chapter 1. Of Barbara.

"Is it true? Barbara Shaw has been given Avonlea School?" Mrs. Jessie Spencer asked of Mrs. Rachel Lynde, in the kitchen of Green Gables.

"It's true enough," replied Mrs. Rachel, knitting away comfortably, "Mr. Pete Sloane told me so himself, and being on the school board, I reckon he's as good an authority as anyone on the subject, that's what."

Mrs. Jessie shook her grey-curled head doubtfully. "Barbara Shaw, teaching school? I don't know. I heard that she did very well in Queen's, but…"

"She's hopelessly harum-scarum?" Mrs. Rachel nodded wisely. "I well remember when Anne taught her at school. Such an awkward, accident-prone of a girl there never was! If she could walk down the aisle without tripping over her own feet it was a day to be celebrated. But she's come a long way, that's what, Jessie, and I reckon she'll do real well at teaching Avonlea School."

"But don't you remember what happened at church the first Sunday she was home from Queen's?" persisted Mrs. Jessie. "The way she sat twitching so queer during the whole of the sermon, and then, when it was time to go, _hopped out of church?_"

"I do," Mrs. Rachel conceded. "That made real talk. But Josephine Shaw told me later, at Carter Flagg's store, that after she scolded her, Barbara had explained that a _spider_ had got into her shoe, and of course, she couldn't do anything about it during the sermon, so that's why she was twitching about. And apparently she hopped out of church for fear that she would squash the creature dead if she walked on the shoe that it was in."

"But it looked so queer! And she's _still_ so scatter-brained!" Mrs. Jessie continued. "Remember when, one of the weekends she was home from Queen's, some of the young folks got up a concert at Avonlea Hall? Barbara was reciting "The Lady of Shallott" but forgot the verses half-way through? And then she began to _hiccup?_"

"Well, that _was_ rather alarming," admitted Mrs. Rachel. "But probably that was because she was so nervous. She's awful awkward reciting in public."

"And I heard Prillie Rodgerson wanted the school. Prillie's a nice, well-mannered, girl," said Mrs. Jessie.

"Nobody said that Barbara wasn't," retorted Mrs. Rachel, "And Prillie's nice enough, but the way she flirts is something scandalous, that's what. All the Rodgerson girls flirt."

Mrs. Jessie sniffed. "Well, Rachel, she does have a reason. She's the prettiest girl in Avonlea. Barbara, now…well, well, that doesn't matter. What matters is her teaching school well, of course."

"And I maintain she'll do that," Mrs. Rachel said, with a firm nod. "The fact is, Barbara's real earnest and well-meaning, and you wait and see, Jessie, she'll make a fine teacher."

Mrs. Jessie sniffed.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Barbara Shaw, at that moment, was sitting at her bedroom window, gazing dreamily out at the creeping twilight. She was making all sorts of lovely plans. She was going to teach school, and teach it well! She knew that many in Avonlea didn't think she could do it.

In truth, Barbara Shaw was not the most graceful-looking of girls. She was very tall, with long legs and arms, which, although in recent years she had learned how to keep out of her way, still gave her an awkward look. She was nut-brown, with golden-brown hair and golden-brown eyes that crinkled up when she laughed. Her harum-scarumness vexed her aunt Josephine sorely, and the lady despaired over her niece ever developing any social graces. The year at Queen's had helped, but she still worried over her. She was nothing like other girls in Avonlea. And she didn't have as many friends as she ought to.

It was true that Barbara was rather laughed at by the young folk of Avonlea, and not very intimate with many of them. It hurt her when they laughed, and she, when younger, had often preferred to prowl about the woods alone, rather than play with them. Her only really close friend was Annetta Bell.

However, Mrs. Rachel had been right about Barbara's being earnest and well-meaning. Barbara was determined that she would teach her pupils so well, so thoroughly, that nobody – nobody could say that she was too scatterbrained and accident-prone to make anything of herself.

"I WILL succeed!" Barbara said out loud, suddenly jumping out of her window seat. She attempted to dance a jig, and nearly tripped over her feet, but what of that?

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Well that was "Chapter the First." How was it? I really would like your opinion. But please bear in mind that I have feelings, and give constructive criticism. But do give your opinion. Reviews will inspire me.

Silver Stockings

P.S Pleasepleasepleaseee….


	2. A School Teacher

Chapter 2 A School Teacher

"Just think, Auntie!" Barbara announced. "From this day forth, I am a school-teacher!"

Mrs. Josephine pursed her lips and surveyed her niece critically over her teacup.

"Hummph. I hope you will keep your wits about you, Barbara," she said.

"Oh, I will," Barbara said gravely. "You needn't worry about me, Auntie. Being sixteen has sobered me considerably, I do assure you."

"Hummph," was all Mrs. Josephine would say. She _was_ worried. Barbara, with her shining eyes and flushed face, did not exactly present a picture of sobriety.

In spite of shining eyes and flushed face, when Barbara began the walk to school after breakfast, she was incredibly nervous. It was all very well to avow that you would make good, that you would create small geniuses of your pupils, that you would leave a shining imprint of yourself in the hearts of your scholars, etc, etc, but actually carrying out your noble intentions was quite a different thing.

Suppose the pupils didn't like her? Just the other day, Mrs. Jessie Spencer had told that if she didn't rule with an "iron hand" then the pupils would "torment her life out." Now, Barbara didn't intend to use an "iron hand." But suppose that Mrs. Jessie was right?

"I'll be calm, and kind, yet firm and capable," she said out loud, trying to assure herself. Dear Miss Shirley, when she had taught Barbara at Avonlea School, had been just that – and so understanding, so lovely about Barbara's scatter-brained ways! Instead of being cross at Barbara's coming in late to school, she had talked to her at recess and had helped her come up with ways to avoid being late.

She hoped she could be just like Miss Shirley.

oooooooooooooooooo

Barbara stood before the whitewashed, low-eaved schoolhouse and took a deep breath. Then she went up the steps. And caught the heel of one shoe in a crack on the very last. Barbara stumbled as she tugged the shoe out, flinging out her arms, and so, made a staggered, drunken entrance into the school-room.

Feeling her face burn crimson, as she heard low sniggers around the room, she straightened, and drew herself up to her full height. The room fell silent.

Barbara shakily hung up her coat and hat, and then turned to face the class. About thirty boys and girls sat there, fifteen pairs of laughter-filled, blue, brown, grey and green eyes. Barbara tried to speak, and found her voice hoarse. This would not do at all!

"You may take your Testaments," she finally said, softly, and then sat down with a bump.

Oh, what a horrid entrance that had been! She had meant to walk in so gracefully, and now this! They must all think her so silly. She looked up, and, as all the pupils were engaged in opening their desks and getting out their Testaments, took the opportunity to see how many she knew from her own schooldays. Most of the primer class she knew, with the exception of two or three new children. Her old class-mates were gone, most of them having attended Queen's like her, and some, like her friend Annetta, having decided not to study for the Entrance, had chosen to finish their education.

But she knew quite a few of the older children, the ones that had been two or three years younger than her. Davy and Dora Keith were there, Milty Boulter, the three Cottons, Clarice Almira Don_nell_. The sight of these familiar faces was cheering to her, and when she next spoke, she was able to do so without her voice choking.

The morning flew by quite uneventfully. The children were not the holy terrors that Mrs. Jessie had pictured them to be, indeed, they were quite well behaved. Charlie Thompson, an impish seven-year-old with a pointed, freckled little face pulled Kathleen James' chair from under her when she tried to sit down, and she sat down rather hard upon the wooden floor, but Barbara made Charlie apologise to Kathleen and do an extra sum, which he did quite cheerfully. Otherwise the morning was passing quite easily, and Barbara congratulated herself on being able to handle school rather well.

But then.

About a half hour before recess, the door of the schoolhouse opened, and a girl came in. No, she did not merely _come_ in; she glided in, skimming across the floor as if she were a swan.

The girl was tall, like Barbara, but unlike Barbara, held herself with such a distinct air of grace and poise that she looked quite out of place in that ordinary brown schoolroom. She was very fair, with pale gold curls about her shoulders, and very large blue eyes with very long lashes. She was dressed in pale pink gingham; gingham though it was, she wore it as a queen might wear the purple.

The room fell silent, and there was a pause of a few moments, before Barbara managed to say, lamely, "Your name please? And why are you so late to school?"

"My name," the girl said, in light, refined, well-bred tones, "Is Matilda Rosing. Due to circumstances that were beyond my control, I am late."

Barbara could find nothing to say to this. Perhaps there was a reason that she would rather not talk of in front of the class?

"Well, Matilda, sit down," she said finally, "You may take that seat by the window, there, beside Nelly."

Matilda Rosing looked at Nelly Thompson, chubby and plain, dressed in rather shabby brown gingham, and her eyes seemed to bore into her. Poor Nelly looked rather frightened.

Matilda turned back to Barbara.

"I can't sit there," she said in the same, polite, pretty tone as before.

"Why not?" Barbara asked, slightly bewildered.

"Because," said Matilda, "I am a Rosing."

Barbara stared at her. Girls whispered. Boys sniggered.

"I cannot allow myself," Matilda continued, "As a Rosing, to be _tainted_ by associating with a girl of _inferior birth_."

Nelly now looked mortified, and tears came into her eyes. The girls now looked indignant, the boys astonished.

Barbara found her voice.

"Matilda," she said, trying to sound calm, and kind, yet firm and capable, "Rosing, or not, you must sit next to Nelly. Please apologise to her for your rudeness, and take your seat."

"But I can't," Matilda said, politely.

Barbara began to feel helpless in the face of this beautiful, graceful girl with the disdainful face. But she WAS the teacher, after all. Still, she could not whip her…she could never whip anybody. Miss Shirley had never whipped anyone except Anthony Pye, and that was with good reason. What would she do?

The whole class was watching, waiting, wondering what she would say.

Barbara looked again at Matilda. There was a gleam of triumph in her blue eyes, although her face remained smooth and distant.

"Matilda," Barbara said, quietly, "If you will not deign to sit next to Nelly, then you may stand next to the door and study from there until recess. The fourth class is studying page two of their spelling." The class now looked at Matilda.

"Very well," Matilda said, sneeringly polite this time. She floated gracefully to the door.

Barbara resumed hearing the primer class read, but she was unhappy, and felt somewhat unsatisfied with her punishing of Matilda. There she stood – proud, beautiful, poised, with her spelling in her white hands. Barbara knew that there was no humiliation or regret in that figure.

"I can see that I am going to have to win her over," she sighed to herself.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Just want to thank rubygillis, r6144, EmilyoftheTansyPatch, and Smoltenica, for being so splendiferous as to review.

Please keep doing so!

Silver Stockings

P.S To rubygillis, there will be a romance later on in the story, but not just yet.


	3. Introduces Annetta

Thanks so much to gemtsoi, r6144, Elouise82, and Frangipanigirl for reviewing – very spiffing of you.

Oh, and by the way, Frangipanigirl, I did bring the Rosings into existence; you're right, they weren't in the books. You'll find out a bit more about them this chapter.

Chapter 3. Introduces Annetta

Barbara and Matilda talked at recess. Or rather, Barbara, somewhat awkwardly, attempted to point out to Matilda where she had gone wrong, and tried to make her see the rudeness of her behaviour, (all the time trying to be calm and kind yet firm and capable) - but it was very frustrating.

Matilda sat there, a look of smooth, polite interest on her pale face, her hands folded neatly in her lap, but Barbara had the uncomfortable feeling that she was not _really_ listening to anything she was saying.

"Don't you think, Matilda," she tried again, "That _your_ feelings would be hurt if someone spoke of you the way you spoke of poor Nelly today?"

"Oh, but no-one could speak of _me_ that way," Matilda said, "I am a Rosing."

Barbara wished she could say, "a fig for the Rosings'", as was her first impulse, but of course she could not.

"You _must_ apologise to Nelly, Matilda," she said, trying to be stern.

"But I can't," said Matilda – politely, oh, yes, always politely!

"Then you must stay in at recess every day until you _will_," Barbara said, feeling despairing of ever getting Matilda to agree with her. "And you will sit next to Nelly."

She waited for the aggravating reply of "But I can't", but it was not forthcoming.

Matilda merely nodded.

000000000000000000

The children may have behaved well in the morning, but that afternoon was really very trying.

To begin with, Matilda, though she sat next to Nelly, sat herself at the very corner of the bench, and refused to look at or speak to Nelly. Charlie Thompson, who turned out to be quite an irrepressible little tease, pulled girls' braids, dropped spiders down their necks, and even laid a banana peel on the floor so that Barbara, when she came up to reprimand him, slipped on it, and had to catch hold of a desk to stop herself from falling. Girls whispered constantly, and drew on their slates instead of doing their sums.

Barbara scolded and punished so that when she rang the bell for the end of school, her voice was hoarse and she felt ready to cry for vexation.

She walked wearily home from school. Surely – surely things would be better tomorrow. Once she was used to – scolding so much.

At home, she found Mrs. Rachel Lynde sitting in the kitchen with her aunt. They were discussing Trent West's funeral, but from the way Mrs. Rachel abruptly broke off the conversation when she walked in, Barbara knew that she had come on purpose to find out how her first day had gone.

"Well, Barbara? How was your first day teaching?" she inquired, after Barbara had put her school books away, and Mrs. Josephine was cutting fruitcake for her niece and pouring her a cup of tea, all the while eyeing her sharply.

"It was tolerable, Mrs. Lynde," answered Barbara, sitting down.

Mrs. Lynde looked at her sympathetically. "Dora told me that Charlie Thompson was real naughty. But she and Davy both said that they like you real well as a teacher, Barbara. And they said that most of the other scholars liked you too."

Matilda Rosing hadn't, Barbara thought, and it reminded her of something she had meant to ask her aunt.

"Aunty, Mrs. Lynde – _who_ are the Rosings?"

"They just moved from Montreal, a week or so before you came home," her aunt said, "I haven't had a chance to call. Clark Rosing grew up on the Island, over in Newbridge, but his ancestors came out from Scotland. He became a businessman in Montreal, and made quite a lot of money, I heard."

"He met and married Amelia Rosing there," Mrs. Rachel put in, "she was from the Island too – grew up right here in Avonlea. I remember her as a girl. She was a belle and beauty. Likely it was because of her Clark moved back to the Island – her health was failing her, I understand." She looked shrewdly at Barbara.

"I suppose their daughter was at school today?"

"Yes," Barbara said, sipping her tea.

"She's supposed to resemble Amelia mightily, I heard. Folks rave about her looks, although I haven't seen her, or called on them myself – I haven't had a chance since I was laid up with flu."

"She is very pretty," admitted Barbara. "But…" She stopped. She did not like to tell Mrs. Lynde about Matilda's behaviour. She wanted to win her over without anyone's knowing.

"A bit spoiled?" Mrs. Lynde said knowingly.

"A little, Mrs. Lynde. Excuse me, I promised Annetta that I would spend the afternoon with her," Barbara got up and in her haste, knocked her chair over, getting her long legs tangled up in it somehow, and sat down hard on the floor.

"Oh dear…no, Mrs. Lynde, there's nothing broken, I do assure you," she laughed up at the good lady, who had looked rather alarmed at the resounding crash that Barbara and the chair had made.

Springing to her feet, her face slightly crimson, she set the chair upright once more and went off to Rosebrooks, the Bell farm.

The two ladies looked at each other, amusedly tolerant, after she had left.

"Barbara is still a child in so many ways," sighed Mrs. Josephine, shaking her head, a little helplessly.

"Well, I don't deny that she's a trifle hasty sometimes, Josephine, but it's a real sensible girl she's grown to be. You don't need to worry about her," comforted Mrs. Lynde.

000000000000000000000

Annetta was unhappy about something. Barbara could see that as soon as she arrived at Rosebrooks. Her big brown eyes were wistful. To be sure, Annetta nearly always looked a wee bit wistful. She was a pale, delicate little thing, with silky masses of fawn-coloured hair. Her parents had decided not to let her study for the Entrance for fear that she was not strong enough to cope with the work, or to attend Queen's and teach. Annetta hadn't minded. She liked very well to stay at home and help her mother.

Barbara and Annetta had been friends since they were schoolmates in Avonlea School. Annetta had never laughed at her scrapes as other girls had – indeed, she herself was rather isolated by them for being so quiet and timid. At first they had been friends out of necessity – then they grew very close, and, eventually, as a certain redhead might have said, became "bosom friends."

Now Annetta's fingers, knitting lace, kept fumbling the pattern– a sure sign of distress, for Annetta, though insignificant in terms of popularity, was well-known in Avonlea for her beautiful knit lace, something that Barbara, with her ability to tangle thread and lose track of a pattern, particularly admired.

She still listened to Barbara's account of her first day with interest and sympathy, however.

"Matilda Rosing sounds dreadful," she said.

"She certainly was very trying," Barbara groaned. "I must confess, that, when she sat there and didn't even look at poor little Nelly, I felt exactly like I wanted to spank her. But, Netty, I don't want her to hate and fear me – I don't want any of the children to see me as an ogress. I'll just have to win Matilda over. As for Charlie Thompson, he isn't such a bad little fellow, even if did try and trip me up. But what is bothering you, Netty dear?"

Annetta looked down at her knitting, then put it aside with an unhappy little sigh.

"Oh Barbara, I just don't know what to do. I missed you dreadfully to tell things to when you were at Queen's, and I didn't want to disrupt your studies by writing you about it. And when you got back, you were so busy helping your aunt and preparing for school that I didn't want to distract you."

"Silly Netty! As if talking to you would be a 'distraction' as you put it. What is it, dear?"

Annetta looked up, her little, pale face worried, her large brown eyes anxious.

"Barbara – Edgar Rosing wants me to marry him."

Barbara gaped at her.

"And who in the wide world is Edgar Rosing?" she exclaimed.

000000000000000000000000000

Ah, yes, _who?_ And what will come of it? Stay tuned to find out!

And of course, please review!

-Silver Stockings-


	4. Annetta's Love Affair

Helloooo! Thank you to r6144, rubygillis, Elouise82, Frangipanigirl, and Smoltenica, the lovely-jubbly people who reviewed! I'm glad you all seem to be enjoying the story.

Oh, just some answers to a few questions: Elouise82, Annetta has most definitely gotten over having hysterics at little things (in public at least!)

Frangipanigirl, yes, Annetta in this story is the very Annetta who wrote the hilarious "love-letter" to Anne in "Anne of Avonlea".

And yes, Smoltenica, now that you mention it, "Rosings", the home of the fair Lady Catherine _was_ in my mind when I made up that last name – I had recently just read "Pride and Prejudice", you see, and somehow it was in my head. I thought it suited the family I had in mind. I wondered if anyone would pick that up. I'm not really a Jane Austen fan - I loved "Pride and Prejudice", but I'm not really warming to "Emma", which I'm stuck half-way through now. And I'm afraid that "Professor Flitwick's Bad Day" won't be updated for awhile – I'm clean out of ideas on it, you see. Thanks muchly for reviewing that, though!

And now, I know that all of you are curious about Edgar Rosing. The mystery will be partially unveiled in this chapter, I promise you.

Hope you like it!

Chapter 4. Annetta's Love Affair

Annetta flushed rosily and looked down at her lap.

"Edgar Rosing is the nephew of Mr. Clark Rosing, from Montreal. I – I met him when I was visiting Aunt Hortense in Charlottetown."

"And he has _proposed_ to you?" stammered Barbara. "How did all this happen, Netty?"

Annetta looked up at her. "I first met him at Miss Gladys Jennings' house - a friend of Aunt Hortense's - when we went there for dinner. Apparently she and his mother were friends. We talked a great deal - although I couldn't say much – after all, _he_ goes to Redmond and _I'm_ just a stupid little country girl who didn't even go to Queen's…"

Annetta had always been like that – thinking herself insignificant and unimportant compared to others, and content to worship and be in awe of them, content to be in the shadows, never seeing how very sweet _she_ was.

"Netty that is _not_ true," Barbara began to say, but Annetta didn't seem to be listening.

"Oh, Barbara," she was saying, "I know it wasn't proper at all – but I felt – I felt like I used to when I had hysterics at school, only without the shrieking. It was the same dizziness. I was positively _limp._"

Although Annetta had never been poetic, and her analogy hardly elegant, Barbara could see that her friend was in earnest. She had never seen Annetta like this before. She had been anxious before but now her eyes were softly dreamy, her face rapt and radiant. Barbara suddenly felt very young and ignorant, in spite of being a "fully fledg'd school ma'am."

"And then I met him again at a concert. He – he looked at me a great deal, Barbara, and – I _know_ it was dreadful of me, Mother would be _very_ cross if she knew – and I couldn't help glancing at him too, now and then, when Aunt Hortense wasn't looking."

"But how did he come to propose to you?" Barbara asked.

"Oh – he asked if he could write to me after the concert, since he was going back to Montreal the next day. I said he could. I had a letter from him yesterday, asking me. Oh, Barbara," Annetta's face suddenly lost its radiance and she looked anxiously at her friend again.

"_Did_ I do wrong? _Was _it dreadfully immodest of me? I haven't told anyone about him except you – I've been rushing off to the post office before Mother or Father or Tabby could go. I'm so frightened to tell them, especially Mother. She would be so mad."

Barbara marvelled inwardly at the power of love. Modest, shy little Annetta, having a secret love-affair! Then her heart sank a little. Annetta – married! How strange – and – frightening that was! But Annetta was waiting for her to speak, worry falling over her little face like a frost.

"Netty dearest," Barbara took Annetta's cold hand in hers, "I do not think you have done anything immodest at all. If you and Edgar Rosing love each other, and he has proposed, why shouldn't you tell your parents? Of course, I know you would have to wait until you were eighteen at least, and he finishes college, but surely they wouldn't object. He comes of a good family, he is at Redmond…"

"But Barbara, they want me to marry Anthony Pye!" wailed Annetta.

This was yet another shock for poor Barbara.

"Anthony Pye!" she exclaimed. "Annetta Bell! Are you telling me that you and Anthony Pye –"

"No, no!" Annetta cried. "I don't want to marry him at all! He isn't anything to me. He walked home with me after praying-meeting twice, while you were away, but that was before I met _him._ But Father and Mother are crazy about him – they have their hearts set on me marrying him. And they don't like the Rosings here in Avonlea at all. Oh, Barbara, _what_ shall I do?"

"Netty, if you do not love Anthony Pye…" said Barbara, thinking, Anthony Pye! He wouldn't do at all for Netty – he'd lord it over her, and boss her. "If you do not love Anthony Pye," she repeated, "And you _do_ love Edgar Rosing, why, then of course you cannot marry Anthony."

Annetta's face brightened. "Oh, Barbara, do you really think so? But Mother would never consent. She would say that I had been reading too many silly novels. You know how she can be."

Barbara _did_ know. Although Mrs. Bell was a good-hearted and generally generous woman, she had a decidedly unromantic, sensible, no-nonsense side to her that could be very difficult to overcome.

"Annetta," she said slowly, "Are you very certain that you love Edgar Rosing? After all, you have only met him twice. If you are sure…"

"I _am_ sure!" cried Annetta, with uncharacteristic passion, although her pale cheeks flamed once more, "I never thought that I _could_ feel – like that. Barbara, do you remember those fairytales we used to read when we were at school together, and how the princess always found her true love and lived happily ever after in the end? I always thought those stories were so silly. But – but I don't now. I feel exactly the same way!"

Barbara looked at her friend and knew she was telling the truth.

"You must tell the truth to your parents then, Annetta," she said resoloutely, "There is no other way. But first, write to Edgar Rosing and tell him that you will marry him. Dearest, I am sure that your parents will consent once they realize that this is what you really wish. Once they know how much you care for Edgar Rosing." She didn't know why the two names always seemed to go together. Perhaps because Edgar Rosing seemed so – so mysterious.

"I will, then," a trembling Annetta said. "You're right, Barbara. But oh, they _will _be awfully cross, especially Mother. But I _must_ do it. Thank you for understanding me, Barbara, dear."

Barbara squeezed her hand, but she sighed as she walked home through the purpling twilight. How – funny – were the changes that happened, when one grew up! Here she was, Barbara Shaw, teaching school, and there was Annetta, with a marriage proposal! _Not_ to mention - Anthony Pye!

0000000000000000000000

At the end of that week, Mrs. Rachel Lynde hurried into the kitchen of Green Gables with an air of excitement that immediately told Marilla that she had a juicy tidbit of gossip to pass on.

"What do you think, Marilla? _Annetta Bell is engaged to Edgar Rosing from Montreal!_ The nephew of Clark Rosing! The Bells got a real shock, alright. He and Annetta have been writing to one another since she came back from visiting in Charlottetown, and now they are engaged! The Bells kicked up a fuss. All Avonlea knows that they wanted Annetta to have Anthony Pye. But that isn't all!"

"For goodness sakes, Rachel, do sit down and catch your breath before you go on!" Marilla said tartly, although she too was curious.

Mrs. Rachel plumped herself down.

"Edgar Rosing is coming to Avonlea! He wrote his uncle and Annetta that he was coming next week. I do declare, Marilla, Annetta Bell is the last girl I would have expected to catch the attention of any Rosing. It will be one in the eye for Clark Rosing, I reckon."

Very soon, all Avonlea was buzzing with the awaited arrival of Edgar Rosing.

000000000000000000000000

Hope you guys will tell me what you think!

-Silver Stockings-


End file.
